By J. Irving

I thank the Lord for allowing me to grow older with grace, along with my loving wife, of 42 years. Not every prayer was answered, yet God led me toward a better life — gifting me with a sense of clarity and placing me in my comfort-zone, a country that gives back services from the taxes citizens/residents paid, most especially in caring for my health and well-being, without any worry of paying the bills. At this stage, what matters most is no longer ambition or recognition, but peace of mind and the way I choose to live the years that remain, no longer afraid and affected by what other people would say …

As I become a septuagenarian, my heart is full of gratitude. My three children, with their spouses, look up to me and continue to make me proud. Three grandchildren now call me “Lolo” another one is coming soon, and in them I see the importance of discipline, love, and family values being carried forward. Beside me is my ever-caring wife, whom I cherish deeply. Her intentions always come from love and goodness. I have no complaints, only praises for her culinary creations served daily on our table.

Everything I spent in my entire life worrying about something, suddenly stopped not because I gave up but because I finally saw the truth; that moment didn’t come at 30 or even 50. It came today – there’s a quiet shift that happened as I about to reach this age. It’s not loud. It didn’t announce itself but today as I woke up and the things that once felt urgent just didn’t feel important anymore. The pressure faded, the noise softened and for the first time in decades life isn’t about losing something. It’s about gaining clarity because I learned what to let go. There are things that quietly lose their power in turning 70 and why releasing them might be the most fleeting thing.

Let’s begin, enough of  Philippine politics, listening to the news is draining and my constant reason for depression. I would have also deactivated from social media, but it gives me the latest updates, who are celebrating and grieving; and having a way for people to reach me out.

On impressing others. For most of my life, I was thinking to perform to look successful, to sound smart, to be liked and to fit in. I shaped my choices around what others might think of me but at becoming 70, something changed. I realized that most people were too busy worrying also about themselves. To judge me, never truly defined my life. So I stopped asking, will they like this; and now, start asking: does this feel right to me? That shift is freedom. The things I post in social media are funny anecdotes and there are always lessons to learn, not to impress.

On always being right. There was a time when winning arguments felt important, proving my point, having the last word, being seen as correct; but overtime, I notice that winning arguments rarely brings peace, especially with my wife. It often creates distance; instead, by 70, I realized that peace is far more valuable than being right. The strongest thing I can do is stay silent and just listen; not because I have nothing to say but because I no longer need to prove anything. So, I encourage my classmates (mistahs) to refrain from debating . . . hehe

On regretting about the past. I have carried regrets, things I wish I said, chances I didn’t take, moments I wish I could relive or undo; but with age comes, a deeper understanding that the past is not a place I can return to. No matter how much I think about it, I cannot rewrite history. I rewrite my lament instead in a form of a blog: (https://mistah.org/2022/02/18/the-much-awaited-homecoming/) and slowly I begin to accept that my life was never meant to be perfect. It was meant to be real, every mistake, every wrong turn, every missed opportunity has shaped me who I became. Instead of looking backward with regret, I begin to look forward with peace.

On trying to please everyone. There comes a point when I realize I did everything right and still disappoint someone and angry; and for years that feels exhausting, I tried to keep everyone happy, avoid conflict, say yes when you want to say no; but by 70, I understand that my peace cannot depend on everyone else’s approval. I begin to set boundaries, not harshly; but honestly. I learned that saying “NO” is not rejection. It is self-respect and the more I stop trying to please everyone, the more real relationships become.

On the fear of being alone. On becoming 70, many discovers something unexpected. Solitude is not emptiness. It is space to think, to breathe, to simply be me – begin to enjoy my own company; not because I have no one else but because I finally feel complete within myself. Vancouver is a perfect place. I have space and time to write my books and some thoughts. I realized that loneliness and solitude are not the same. Loneliness feels like something is missing but solitude feels like nothing is missing at all.

On holding onto old grudges. It only poisons the present. For years, I saw injustice, especially over my mother’s property in her hometown, Daet — the land she inherited in 1939 and fought for until her death, only for the Barangay, the dispenser of justice on land disputes, forcibly occupies it despite the court ruling in my mother’s favour. What hurt most was being betrayed by a cousin, the Barangay Captain, whom my mother named as one of the heirs. He hid the decision from us and removed himself in the family chat group, blinding us what is happening; while his councillors disobeyed the court order and prolonged their stay by filing an imminent domain, through government resources. The same government that I have served dearly with my life. I am emotionally hurt by their disrespect and disloyalty to my mother, not of stealing the lot; and though I feel abandoned, I no longer want bitterness to consume what remains of my life. I now leave everything to God and karma, believing that, as we say in cadet’s lingo, there will always be a reckoning day. Who cares anyway of my misfortunes … https://patamassacre.data.blog/2006/02/12/the-pata-island-massacre-who-cares/

One fear that remains with aging is not the loss of luxury, but the fear of becoming a burden to one’s children. For this, I remain deeply grateful. My wife and I live in our own modest homes, free from debt. My military service ended honorably, and my pension allows us to live with dignity and stability. We may not have abundance, but we have enough — enough for peace of mind, enough to help with our grandchildren’s education, enough to enjoy simple pleasures like a meal together with family or a quiet day on the golf course with mistahs.

Retirement can leave many people feeling lost when structure disappears and the days suddenly become silent. But I thank the Lord and my daughter for giving me renewed purpose through my apostolic duties. There  is my grandson, Tobi — adorable, energetic, and full of life. He keeps us busy, but joyfully so. Through him, we once again find rhythm, purpose, and something beautiful to look forward to.

As I grow older, I realize that what remains in the end is not what I owned, but how I lived, whom I loved, and the kindness I shared. Time passes quickly. Many people spend their younger years believing there will always be more time — more time to chase dreams, mend relationships, or begin again. But by 70, I understood that time was never guaranteed. Some opportunities disappear quietly. Some people I intended to spend more time with are suddenly gone.

And yet, I consider myself wealthy — not in possessions, but in the things that truly matter: love, memories, faith, family, and moments that endure in the heart. That is the kind of richness that lasts.

If I can leave anything behind, I hope it is not status or accomplishments, but wisdom — the desire to guide others not toward recognition, but toward purpose, integrity, peace, and compassion.

Because in the end, life does not become harder with age.

It simply becomes clearer…